Peeta's POV of the 74th Hunger Games
by Marlee92
Summary: The 74th Hunger Games. Through Peeta's eyes.
1. Chapter 1

_Reaping Day._

"At least I got to sleep in today." I grumble as I pull myself out of bed. Yeah. Sleeping in. As in not waking up at 5 am and getting up at 7 instead. I hear my brothers walking around downstairs, they rose even earlier. Probably in hopes that mom had made some sort of special breakfast. Not likely.

I rise and walk to the small, dirty window in my bedroom, and push it open. Sunlight streams in and the air is cool and crisp. On any other day, I'd be working down in the kitchen, pulling the hot bread out of the oven or decorating cakes for the window display. Instead I take a deep breath of the sort of fresh air and decide I should probably join my family for breakfast.

"Well it's about time you get out of bed.. The Reaping is only a few hours away and you're not even washed yet."

Now, most mothers would comfort their children on a day like today. Well, I assume they would probably try to make them feel better about the day anyways. My mother has never been like that. She has never been a loving person. To my older brother's or to my father. At least, not since I can remember. She's always been very cold and calculating. She'd hit me or my brother's if we ever got out of line with her or just messed up something she expected us to do perfectly.

My father and I aren't exactly close, but at least I know he doesn't want my name to be pulled. My mom might see that as a blessing.

Before I know it, I am standing in front of a dirty mirror looking at my reflection. Washed, dressed in nice clothes, hair brushed back out of my face and hoping beyond hope that my name isn't called. My name is only in that glass bowl a total of four times. What are the chances right? The odds are most definitely in my favor today.

I think of all the boys that live in the Seam as I am checking in at the town square. Most of those boys have their names put into that bowl twenty plus times. They weren't as fortunate as I am. I've never had to take a tessarae in my life. My family may not be wealthy, but we were well off enough that I never had to sign up for the extra grain and oil.

I find a place amongst the other 16 year old boys and we all give each other the same weary look. The Reaping will begin shortly.

Effie Trinket is on stage and directing us towards a large screen hung down off of the Justice Building. It tells the same story as it does every other year. The story of the Dark Days. There used to be thirteen districts in Panem before the revolution. The districts rose up and fought against the Capitol, the ruling city of our country. In the end the districts lost. The Capitol completely demolished District 13, to show that they could, and came up with the idea of the Hunger Games. To remind the districts of their place in our country. During the Hunger Games, each district is required to supply one boy and one girl tribute to put into an arena and fight to the death. The last girl or boy standing is rewarded with a lavish lifestyle back home. They never want for anything ever again. Money, food, a house with heat and air in the Victor's Village. Only one house in District 12's Victor's Village is occupied. A man named Haymitch Abernathy is the only living victor from District 12. He spends most of his time in a drunken stupor and hangs out around the Hob. A black market ran in one of the old warehouses in the Seam.

The Reaping was set in place as a drawing for the Hunger Games. There is a bowl filled with small pieces of papers with the boys, ages 12-18, in it and a bowl for the girls' names. Effie Trinket has been the escort for District 12 for as long as I can remember. She is the one that draws the names. I tune back in as the film ends and Effie Trinket closes with "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." Unfortunately for the people of the districts, I don't believe the odds have ever been in our favor.

Effie moves to the bowl for the girl's and plunges her hand deep down into the slips. I glance over to the girl's and can see the tension rolling through their bodies as the crowd takes in a collective breath. Effie's voice is loud and clear as she calls out the name on the slip.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I blink. Primrose Everdeen? She's only 12. I watch as the small blonde walks out from the crowd. The other girls part like the Red Sea as she moves through them. Like if they touch her, they might fall victim of her bad luck. She gets through the crowd and I can see the shock on her face as she moves up to the stage, slowly, but surely. What happens next is completely unexpected and I feel my heart drop straight through my stomach.

"Prim!" A strangled cry comes from behind where I am standing. The crowd turns as one and we all see Katniss Everdeen pushing her way through the crowd of girls and trying to work her way around the Peacekeepers that are pushing back on her.

"Prim!" She screams again. "I volunteer!" The Peacekeepers push on her again. "I volunteer as tribute!"

A lump has formed in my throat as I watch her shove back on the men in the white uniforms. The odds couldn't be further from being in my favor. Shortly after Katniss is on stage and introduced to the crowd as "District 12's very first volunteer!"

Effie makes quick work reaching into the bowl of boy names and I have barely had time to let the festivities thus far sink in when she calls out the name on the slip.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I can hear the sighs of relief from the boys around me but I can't seem to find my own breath. Peeta Mellark. That's me. I was chosen for the Hunger Games. I walk up to the stage uninterrupted, as I assumed I would if this should ever happen to me. There's no chance of anyone volunteering for me.

I look to Katniss and am surprised to find that she doesn't have a look of fear in her eyes, but instead a closed off expression, and somewhere underneath that, recognition. Of course she knows who I am. We are in the same classes in school. Even though we didn't necessarily run with the same crowd, I still knew who she was. Could pick her out from a group of people. Not that she was ever with a group of people. The only people I ever saw her interact with were Gale Hawthorn and Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter.

My first interaction was years ago. After her father died in a mining accident. I'd burnt bread and tossed it to her in the rain. It wasn't much, and I doubt she remembers it, but it was the first, and only, time I'd ever reached out to her. I wish now that I had said something to her before today. Now I will never get the chance to actually know who she is.


	2. Chapter 2

I will most definitely update as often as my toddler will allow me to! In the mean time, remember to review, review, review! I appreciate every one!

Chapter 2

I am whisked away to a small room inside the Justice Building before I can process the fact that I will never see these people again. I will never see this district with its dusty streets and cloudy air. I will never decorate another cake, or see my friends and family after today. I have only a minute to wonder who will come to see me before the door opens and my father, two brothers and mother walk in.

A quiet settles over us and I wonder if this is how the next hour will be. All of us just staring at each other, shocked into silence. My mom is the first to speak after what seems like an eternity.

"Well, maybe District 12 will have a winner this year." My mom has faith that I'll win? This gives me a slight inkling of courage. "She's a survivor, that one." No. Of course she didn't mean me.

I feel the first tear stream down my face as my father crosses the room and gives me a tight, silent hug. He's never been one for displaying affection or even saying much, and it is this motion of him reaching out to me that breaks my bravado. He pats me on the back, holds me at an arm's length and nods his goodbye before leaving the room. My brother's are both in shock. They do nothing the entire hour, but stare. As they're being ushered out of the room, my eldest brother claps me on the shoulder.

"Good luck, Peeta. We'll be rooting for you the whole time. We love you, brother."

And then they're gone. I will never see them again and I don't really know how to process that. I sit down and wait until they come back into the room to escort me to the train station where we will be taken away to the Capitol. I don't expect to see anyone else, and no one else shows up at the door.

When I am gone, who will remember me?

I sit there for a long time and have nothing else to do other than think about my fate. The odds most definitely are not in my favor.

I don't realize I'm crying until I am escorted into the train station and the cameras are surrounding me, plastering my image all over the entire country of Panem. For a moment, I wonder if I should have tried a little harder to hide my tears, and then I decide that there's really no point. I have no chance at winning anyways. We stand there for a moment and then are ushered into the train car by a pair of Peacekeepers.

I wander around the train until they finally summon me to the dining car. I walk slowly, taking in my surroundings. Everything here is so beautiful and polished. I run my finger tip along a long table decorated with expensive looking vases that are filled with what look to be freshly picked flowers. Beautiful. Every single one of them so bright in color I wonder if they are manufactured in a warehouse as opposed to being grown in a garden somewhere. So caught up in the beauty surrounding me, I walk straight into an already stumbling Haymitch. I grab each of his shoulders to steady him.

"Sorry, Haymitch." I wonder if he even knows my name, he was so drunk at the Reaping. Does he even realize where he is right now? His bloodshot eyes rest on me for a moment, before he pushes past me, mumbling something about a nap. Shrugging, I force myself to leave the silent car behind and continue to dinner.

The dining car is just as extravagant as the rest of the train, it's also just as empty. I take a seat and wait. Unsure of what else I'm supposed to do. Effie and Katniss walk in just as I'm wondering if I really am the only person coming to dinner.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie's voice is bright, just as it was at the Reaping earlier in the day, but you can see in her expression annoyance at our unruly mentor.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." At least, that's what I think he was saying.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day." She is obviously relieved by the fact that Haymitch will be absent from dinner.

I nod my head only slightly. That's the understatement of the year.

Supper is served to us in courses. Thick carrot soup, a bright green salad, lamb chops served with mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and finally a chocolate cake served for dessert. I vaguely hear Effie when she tells us frequently throughout the meal that we had better slow down, as more is coming. The food is so rich and wonderfully fresh that I can't help but eat as quickly as I can. This will be my last chance to ever have food this good, so why waste it on eating slowly?

"At least you two have decent manners," Effie's voice is filled with disgust as she scrunches up her nose. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion!" I look up from my plate and see Katniss glaring at Effie. If looks could kill… The rest of the meal, Katniss makes a point of eating with her hands, slurping her soup loudly, and finally wiping her hands across the tablecloth. You can just see it in Effie's face that she is less than pleased with this, but she stays silent.

After we've finished, I begin to slowly become aware of a deep ache in my stomach. Whether it's from eating far too much, or the richness of the food I'm not sure. We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings in the other districts, and it's all I can do to keep my food from making a return appearance on the carpet.

We see each reaping in order of the districts. Names are called, and volunteers step forward, mostly in the first two districts. I watch carefully, taking in each boy and girl that approaches the stage knowing that these people will be trying to kill me in less than a week. With that thought, I can't help but casting a glance Katniss' way. Her expression becomes extra hard when a young girl from District 11 is called and no volunteers step forward for her.

Next is the reaping from our district. It feels strange watching from this vantage point. Katniss pushing through the crowd of girls, shoving Prim behind herself and volunteering. I watch as Gale glides up the aisle and peels Prim away from Katniss, screaming for her older sister. The silent salute from our classmates and their families as they press their first three fingers to their lips and then hold them up in the air, giving silent thanks, admiration and saying good-bye to someone they love. I see myself mount the stage quickly after. We shake hands. The anthem blares through the televisions speakers and then the screen goes black, signifying the end of the program.

Effie Trinket huffs loudly. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

She says it as if Haymitch is just a little rough around the edges. Her disgruntled tone makes me laugh for some strange reason.

"He was drunk," I say simply. As if that should excuse his sloppy presentation on stage. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds. Her voice startles me, I haven't heard her say anything all day since the reaping, and I am pleased to see a small smile touching the corners of her lips.

"Yes. How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games," Effie's voice is becoming squeaky. "The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

As if on cue, Haymitch staggers in. "I miss dinner?" His voice is slurred. The sentence is barely finished when he vomits all over the carpet and proceeds to fall into the bile.

"So laugh away!" Effie Trinket's voice has reached a whole new pitch as she hops out of the room.

The scene before me completely stops my laughter in its tracks as I realize that Effie Trinket is 100% right. The man lying in a pool of vomit at my feet is the last chance at life I have. And that's not very promising.


	3. Chapter 3

Unsure of what to do, Katniss and I stand and watch as our mentor, our lifeline in the games, tries to rise out of the slippery mess he's sprawled out in. I exchange a glance with Katniss and we each reach down and take one of Haymitch's arms, pulling him to his feet.

"I tripped?" He sounds confused. "Smells bad." As if trying to get rid of the smell, he wipes his hand across his nose. Unfortunately for him, his hand is covered in vomit, and is now smeared across his face. We practically carry Haymitch back to his compartment and deposit him into his bathtub. He doesn't even notice as we turn the ice cold water on him. I suppress a smile as I realize how uncomfortable Katniss looks.

"It's okay," I say to her. "I'll take it from here.

I don't miss the look of relief that plays across her features.

"All right," She says. "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you." 

She's reaching for the door as I reply.

"No," I shake my head, bending to unbutton Haymitch's soilecd shirt. "I don't want them."

With a nod of her head, she leaves.

It's not as if I particularly want to spend one of my last days of life cleaning vomit out of my drunk mentor's chest hair, I just don't want to spend any more time with the Capitol people than I have to.

I hang Haymitch's clothes on the curtain rod after rinsing them out and begin the harder part of this task. I grimace and begin to think back to a different time.

My mother was screaming out the back door at someone going through our trash to move on. It was cold and raining, but as I peered around my mother I could see the girl just as plainly as if she had been standing next to me.

Katniss Everdeen. Dark braids, light grey eyes sunken in from hunger and a jacket that was much too big for her, soaked.

She gave up and sank to the ground, just sitting in the mud. I moved back to the oven and knew I had to help her somehow. I mean, maybe it'd be a chance for me to talk to her. As if on accident, I had moved two large loaves of bread far enough to the edge that they fell into the fire. It didn't take long for the crusts of the bread to become scorched.

Suddenly, my mom is on me, screaming. She hits me once and I fall back into a stack of pans that clattered to the ground. She pushed me to the door, both loaves of bread in my hands.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread."

I had just begun tearing the black edges off the bread when the bell on the front door summoned my mother.

As soon as I was sure she was out of eyesight, I tossed the rest of the bread to Katniss. And that was that.

For days afterwards I had cursed myself. Those loaves amounted to nothing. Soggy and burned. I should've handed them to her. Kept them dry at least.

Even now as I dry Haymitch off and help him to his bed, I find myself scowling over the memory.

Coward. That's what I was. I never did seem to find the courage to speak to her at school. She'd always seemed so.. out of reach. She still does.

I got to my own compartment, shower, and climb into bed.

My dreams are filled with a starving young girl with such sad eyes it breaks my heart.

In the morning, Effie rouses each of us for breakfast. I am only the second person in the dining car as Haymitch is already sitting at the table. Effie Trinket leaves us alone long enough to fetch Katniss.

Eggs, ham and a pile of fried potatoes is placed in front of me on a platter large enough to feed my family. There is fruit sitting on ice in the middle of the table, and a huge basket of rolls that are still steaming.

I watch silently as Haymitch pours an insane amount of some foul smelling spirit into a glass of red liquid.

Passing over the juice and the coffe, I reach for a small mug of a rich smelling brown drink that Effie called hot chocolate.

I've never had anything as delicious as hot chocolate, and when my cup is gone, I ask for more.

I'm just starting to break pieces of a roll and dipping it in the rich stuff when Katniss walks in and gives it a strange look.

"They call it hot chocolate," I explain. "It's good."

There's no more conversation while we eat. Finally, after everyone has eaten their fill, and then some, Katniss speaks up.

"So, you're supposed to give us advice." She doesn't say it like a question, more like she's trying to remind him why he's here.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," He says before busting out in laughter.

Suddenly, I am so angry with this man. This man that is supposed to keep us alive but treats us as if we are just annoyances.

"That's very funny," I say, surprised at the anger in my tone. Before stopping to think, I lash out at his hand and send his glass shattering to the ground.

"Only not to us."

Haymitch takes a very brief pause and then strikes out quickly, punching me in the jaw, sending me to the floor. I have to give the man credit. I'd never guess he could move so quickly or throw a punch so accurately as drunk as he is. I hear something make contact with the table as I rise from the floor and reach for the ice under the fruit.

"What's this?" Haymitch asks. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

That's when I notice a knife wedged into the table just narrowly missing Haymitch's fingers.

I begin to press the ice to my jaw when he stops me.

"No, let the bruise show," He says mildly. "The audience will think you mixed it up with another tribute before you've even entered the arena."

I check to make sure he's serious. Fighting before the games is strictly forbidden.

"That's against the rules," I say dismissively.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." He says. Just as I'm thinking he's crazier than I originally though, he addresses Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She reaches forward, yanks the knife from the table and barely glances at the wall before throwing it. It lodges itself into a seam between two panels. Katniss even looks impressed with herself.

"Stand over there. Both of you," Says Haymitch. We move to the center of the room and he circles us. Sizing us up.

"Well," he begins. "You're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

Neither of us says anything.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say." The last part almost sounds like a threat.

"Fine," I say after a long pause. It's not the best deal, but it's all we've got at this point.

"So help us," says Katniss. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone—"

"One thing at a time," Haymitch dismisses her. "In a few minutes we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But-"

"No buts," he says, sounding like he's getting impatient with us. "Don't resist."

On his way out the door, Haymitch grabs a bottle of a clear spirit and disappears.

Katniss and I stand in silence as the car goes black, save for a few lights on board. It seems like we are stuck in darkness forever. Bruight light invades the train car suddenly and there it is. The ruling city of Panem, the Capitol. We both move to the window. The grandeur of the city is shocking. Magnificent buildings in a wide variety of hues reach for the sky and the people.. they crowd through the streets with their strange clothes and even more bizarre hairstyles.

They slowly begin to recognize the tribute train pulling into the station. They wave and point at us eagerly. Just as the citizens begin waving, Katniss withdraws from the window.

I, however, hold my ground. These people may very well end up sponsoring me while in the arena. So I wave and smile back at them. I catch Katniss staring at me as if I suddenly grew an extra leg.

"Who knows?" I shrug. "One of them may be rich."


End file.
